There are two things I can’t do without. Every year, my guilty pleasures’ debut set me all a tingle. I thoroughly bask the brief, yet golden glow they bring. The sun shines brighter. My coffee tastes richer. And the shoe sales are – um – shoe-ier.

Yes, you heard me right. The McRib, all tangy and saucy and messy and mystery, makes me giddy. The first hint of McRib season, which started right on schedule last week, makes me clap and bounce like a little kid while I gleefully wait in the drive-thru lane. Truly, it’s my happy meal.

Yup. I break out the Wedgewood for The McRib.

If it makes me THAT happy, though, then why should I feel SSSSOOOO guilty? Because I’m (allegedly) a grown-up, and I know better than to eat fast food. Because the McRib is much maligned by the mainstream, and I simply love it for what it is … or isn’t … or might be. Because I secretly care about what people think about me, and I really just want to be one of the cool kids (but it’s troublesome with a big McRib sauce spot on my shirt).

Which brings me to The Rachel Zoe Project, which I love with the same zeal as I love the McRib. And, much like the McRib, Rachel’s time with me is short. I feel her pain when she struggles to delegate. I get simultaneously anxious and teary-eyed with her when she watches her beautiful styling work walk the red carpet at the Oscars. I get angry along with her when those she’s mentored leave and try to siphon her business. Oh, this show allows me to be part of a glamorous, fabulous made-for-TV reality.

Again, however, why so much guilt over Ms. Zoe and her show on Bravo? Because I’m trying to reform some of my own controlling, A-type, if-you’d-just-let-me-run-the-whole-show-it-would-be-better ways; and I really just want to be more like Rachel. Because it shouldn’t seem reasonable for every successful woman to have multiple Hermès Birkin bags; and now I’m stalking them on Portero Luxury and wondering how much my 44-year-old eggs will fetch on the open market. Because – despite my food loving ways – I’d give anything to shimmy into sample sizes.*

But let’s face it: Rachel is one of the cool kids, and I have that pesky McRib sauce spot on my shirt. Damn.

So these are my guilty pleasures. For eight weeks, The Rachel Zoe Project feeds my seemingly insatiable appetite for fashion and glamor and A-type success. And for approximately eight weeks, McDonalds will offer to feed my appetite while I struggle not to hit up every drive-thru for a McRib.

Beware: The two (or three) times I can’t resist, kindly avert your eyes and move out of my way because I’m going to Eat It, St. Louis!

A taste of Fall only found in St. Louis and surrounding areas are Merb’s Bionic apples. Only six bucks and 600 calories for a meal sized apple dipped in thick carmel and rolled in pecan. Each year I lament that I never quite get to the apple but who needs the extra calories, and that soft carmel laden with pecans just slides off the skin sooo nicely.

I too love McRibs! Several years ago I fought the temptation, and when Ray asked where I wanted to go for Valentines day, I said McDonalds for a McRib! As it turned out, Feb. 13th was the last day! I cried all the way home, but have never denied myself the pleasure again! Love you, Mom

Wow, it’s been years since I’ve had a McRib! There was a great story in the Wall Street Journal about a year or so ago about McRibs and how some people – you qualify, Amy – eagerly await their yearly appearance at their local McDonalds. For those willing to do roadtrips in their quest for McRibs, someone even put up a website where people around the US can log recent McRib sightings on a map: McRib Locator. Evidently some McDonalds serve McRibs more frequently, so the McRib Locator keeps everyone up-to-date on where they can be found.